


You Are the Moon

by UnmaskedTomatoes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cutting, Death, Depression, I'm sorry Jean, I'm sorry Marco, M/M, Suicide, implied springles, jeanmarco, this is really depressing and I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnmaskedTomatoes/pseuds/UnmaskedTomatoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only Jean had stayed when Marco pleaded, pleaded and begged on his knees for him to stay. He wanted to take back what he said. "I'll only be gone a week."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry. I just. This is really really depressing and sad and I'm sorry.  
> I had watched episode 22 and it made me really sad so I decided to write something sad while listening to You Are the Moon by The Hush Sound (which is really good their songs are good check them out) and this happened and just oh god I dont care if it sucks because it's too sad for me to fix.

All his fault, all his fault. Everything was his fault and he only wished that he could make it all different. He could have helped and he knew it. He could have noticed. He could have been there for him. But as he stood in front of the flames flickering around his best friend's- his lover's- charring body, he knew, he knew he couldn't change a thing and he knew at that moment he had never felt so weak before.

Only a week ago had he returned from a vacation, and found him. Bloodied. Hanging. Blurry. Broken. If only Jean had stayed when Marco pleaded, pleaded and begged on his knees for him to stay. He wanted to take back what he said. "I'll only be gone a week." A week of pain, a week of his grip slowly slipping until he fell, spiraling, spiraling to his death.

Marco had never thought very highly of himself and Jean knew so. He had known since they became friends in middle school, he knew all through highschool and college and he even knew after all of their fights and confessions and hardships. He never forgot, but each day the knowledge would fade and fade until it just seemed like a mere dream that he knew. The same for the knowledge that Marco's dad left when he was fairly young, how his mom overworked herself and was so close to death so many times, how he felt responsible when she had finally disappeared, how he felt when his dad had done the same and the only person left was Jean.

He knew Marco had scars, inside and outside, he knew exactly how many there were and where they are, how they felt when they were against his lips and how Marco's eyes would glaze over when he was reminded of them.

And after years and years, he thought Marco was okay. He thought that his pain was gone with every smile and every song, every joke, laugh, kiss, embrace, sigh, snore, and "I love you." He never asked though, he had just assumed. Marco didn't talk about it, Jean didn't think about it, and they were both comfortable in their tiny apartment...

Jean had to leave for a mere week due to work when it had happened. He didn't think that Marco was hurting when he asked him to stay. He thought he would just miss him so he just brushed him off. Their last kiss had Marco on the verge of tears, and Jean had only offered him a smile. The reminder of that left his lip trembling and a bitter taste on his tongue, his eyes burning from both the tears surfacing and fire flickering. Beside him, Sasha glanced over and took his hand in hers. He stayed unresponsive as she gently squeezed, in hopes of comforting him.

Memories of all the nights Jean stayed up to hold and comfort Marco popped into his brain. He remembered comparing him to the moon, how Marco thought how cheesey it was, and how he ended up earning a real, genuine smile when Jean had explained. He had always treasured that memory, the memory of the only genuine smile he has ever seen Marco with. It was the only smile that had made the edges of his eyes crinkle and the tears he was holding back fall and stain his freckled cheeks, the only smile that had made Jean breathless as he stared at the beauty as long as he could. The moon that he had compared him with shone directly through the open window and illuminated Marco in a soft glow, and it was almost as though he was being protected in its light.

"Jean, if I ever died young like thi-"

"Stop..."

"...I would want to be cremated."

Jean had bit his lip at the new surfacing memory, blinking away the sting of the still ongoing cremation.

He felt his throat tighten as he ran through every happy thought with Marco, and again and again until the bad ones eventually invaded his thoughts. The fights they had, the one time he made Marco cry and then abandoned him for the night. And the night he came back from the business trip.

He tried not to remember walking through the door, calling out that he was home, hearing an eery silence... walking to the bedroom... and seeing...

The hand that wasn't being held in Sasha's lifted to his mouth to muffle a choked sob.

Marco was hanging. A rope was burning and pulling his neck and he was slowly, twisting, his face coming in and out of view. It soon became blurry, crimson mixing and blurring with gray and plaid as tears filled Jean's wide eyes. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. He hadn't known he was screaming and calling for someone until his neighbors, Connie and Sasha, were at his sides. He didn't quite register the two of them nearly screaming as well, and soon someone had picked up the phone and called for their emergency services.

Jean's memory and vision was fuzzy afterwards, what with the shock settling in that the man he loved was dead. And he had taken his own life.

There was no note, not like anyone expected. Jean would have looked for one if he had thought of it. He just wanted one reminder of him, but all he had were the visions of his beautiful, freckled face smiling at him, imprinted in his mind, and the memories they shared. Other than that, there was nothing.

Soon even the memories faded. Sasha had given up on reminded him. And she had even given up on seeing him, she had given up on enduring the bruises and he was all alone, disabled in a wheelchair on the top floor of another apartment with nothing.

On his deathbed, despite having only 2 people to see him, he felt a third, holding his hand and whispering somethings. He complained about it in quiet mumbles, and Mikasa and Sasha had only smiled and let him go back to Marco in peace, they let him finally, after years, see his smiling, freckled moon that he had loved with all of his heart and more.


End file.
